It's odd to admit, but my Total Corkscrew Counter has been stuck at 14 since January. It's not that we haven't been drinking wine; rather, we've narrowed our selections down to one or two types that we really like which don't have plastic corks. And Prosecco, which opens like champagne.
Note to people who don't often drink Champagne or Prosecco - you don't need a corkscrew. Any attempt to use a corkscrew while opening Champagne or Prosecco could result in the loss of one or more eyes, spleen, etc. Don't do it!
Other than that fascinating tidbit, I can relate that Ostia, the famous seaport near Rome, is not the best place for swimming, and not because there are hundreds of boats. (The main port of Rome is now north of the city at Citavecchia) Rather, the waves pounds straight in from the Med, there are no natural reefs to temper the waves, and the black sand gets achingly hot quickly.
The good news is that when some Kind Italian Man rents you space on the beach (yes, you pay to get access to the Sea) he will also rent you a chair to sit on! Unfortunately, since the waves are quite rough, Andrew didn't get into the water once; the lifeguards also told Helena and William they couldn't go in beyond the breakers, so the majority of the day was spent baking in the sun.
Italy is pretty warm in the summer. The sun is very direct and even with SPF 70 (Which Italians swear will give you cancer...really?) the steady wind will blow so much sand over you that it is scrubbed off in minutes.
After 6 hours of Ostia, we all had sunburns.
Which leads me to a very interesting observation about women's clothing in Italy. Most women here wear dresses all summer. No shorts. Very few shops even sell shorts here. Why?
I suspect that after having sunscreen sandpapered off one's body, or frankly not wearing any because of misguided beliefs about protecting oneself from cancer by standing in the sun wearing nothing but dental floss (duh) one's skin is too raw to put anything with a secure waistband in inseams against.
I lived in skirts for the next 5 days; so did Helena. Andrew took the easy way out and lived in his underwear; he has acquired the nickname "Under-butt" from wearing nothing but boxer-briefs for day on end. Yes, days.
In fact, one memorable evening I took the children to Al Callarello, our favorite neighborhood Italian restaurant. It was very busy outside, but there were tables indoors, where it was slightly stuffy; there is no AC in Italy, as apparently many Italians think it will make you sick. Anyway, Andrew decided it was just too warm for him, so he started pulling off clothes. When I stopped him and said, "You can't be naked here!" Andrew replied, "I am not naked, I am wearing my Unders!"
Nothing can keep us from the beach, though. We are packing our bags this weekend to go back to Sicily. A different house, a different beach but the same part of the island.
This year we plan to drive down the coast, going past Naples (Yay!) and viewing the Sorrento coastline all the way to Calabria. In Mesina we will take the short ferry over to Sicily, then drive from the western side of the island to Cefalu.
We hope to finally see Mt. Etna this year, as well as Catania and Syracuse. My lovely husband 'knows some people' who are friends with the Cusumano family, so we will be getting a tour and lunch at the winery. We also plan to go back to Vulcano and Lipari, go sailing in Mondello on a yacht (not spoiled, are we?) and take a trip down to Agrigento.
Busy month! Hopefully there is still time for the beach.
